The Descent
by Sunsorrow18
Summary: You can't keep a Pokemon antagonist out of action for long. Within, the villains from the main game series ... team up and do something, eventually. Beware, headcannons abound within. Rated T because I think it'll probably end up there. The first two chapters are a bit silly, please forgive me.
1. A madman's frigid mind

A.N.: Please do excuse my complete lack of knowledge on things. I'm a dumb teenager. Anyways, if there's a period in the wrong place, it's probably intentional for the sake of style.

It absolutely irked the detective. He was a _detective_, for Arceus' sake, not some... some recruiter person, _he was not_ a psychotherapist, and all signs said that was what this guy needed. He wanted to be out looking for that prancing, silly-haired scientist, not in here with a madman who. _Would not stop_. Tapping his fingers on the table.

The senior Harmonia (senior was hardly the word, looking at it, he wasn't even over forty) wore a bored expression. Bored expressions were not typically being worn when one was being spoken to by a high-ranking detective of the International Police, in an authentic interrogation room. His flawlessly shaped fingernails drummed a pattern on the table faster than Looker had thought possible, a pattern which was pleasant and at the same time, **extremely... annoying**, something which seems like it should be said through gritted teeth.

"Ghetsis Harmonia," Looker ground out, glancing at his very-official police notebook for pronunciation tips as well as his next words.

The man gave a devious smile, as if he had things planned about which Looker didn't even want to begin to theorize. Delicately touching the tips of two fingers to the corners of his own mouth -was that just a royalty thing?- Ghetsis spoke. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" His voice, as charismatic and strong as anyone who knew him could testify, held hints of mocking. Patronization. That, of course, is meant in the condescending manner. Ghetsis' voice did not receive regular customers - well, there were a few weirdos who attended more than one of his speeches, but they don't count.

"You owe it to your own big IQ," Looker ad-libbed, trying to tie this is with what he'd been told to say. "And because of your minor head trauma," he added.

Ghetsis blinked pleasantly.

"You know," Looker prompted, "the head trauma you suffered when you were younger, and now you're a psychopath? Or is that just an excuse?" Folding his papers and neatly putting them in the inside of his suit, the detective slid into the chair across from Ghetsis, grey eyes stern.

Harmonia waved a hand dismissively, putting his head to the side. "_Please_, detective, I've put up with _enough_ useless ramblings in my life. Can you just tell me what you want and leave me in peace?" He said nothing to deny or affirm Looker's accusation, still wearing that soft smile, and still tapping out his rhythm.

It was utterly unnerving (Looker can no longer eat berries).

"We know how you were involved in takeover attempts of the Unova region, and we cannot allow it to occur again," Looker said bluntly. This gained a derisive huff from Ghetsis, as if he found the statement's simplicity amusing, in a not-so-nice way. "And so, I'm here to offer you a job of sorts that would allow you to expel your evil genius through a different outlet, under police supervision."

This was met with an actual laugh. but rather than replying to this statement, Ghetsis merely leaned uncomfortably close to the detective, taking advantage of his height to further intimidate, and shot off on his own conversation. "I recognize your speech pattern now," Ghetsis said, finally ceasing with that awful tapping. "Tell me, detective, am I correct in saying that you've spent most of your life in Sinnoh?"

Looker leaned backwards in response, offering no answer.

"Yes, then," Ghetsis continued. "That being the case, you should know about me." His smile widened, curling up the sides of his face like a Cheshire cat- someone who accepted that they were mad. "And you should know, better than many others, that I was the one responsible for the time catastrophe. In one day, I wiped out a few less than a half-billion people. Do you really think that someone like me can be contained by "police supervision?""

Looker growled to himself. He wanted to get out of this room as soon as possible, or he felt that he was quite literally going to explode. "It's general consensus that Giratina and Dialga caused... that, or some argue Cyrus." Under that table, he clenched his fists, trying not to get too upset at that smirking face. "We believe that there's still a chance for you. And you honestly have no other choice."

Ghetsis spread his arms dramatically. His once perfectly fitting black suit hung on his body- he'd lost a lot of muscle mass in the two years since his latest defeat. "I think you're forgetting something, detective." Then he stood, chained ankles clinking ominously. Looker felt a chill of dread down his pine, for some unnamed reason. Perhaps it was that Ghetsis was six foot six madman with clothes like a reaper of death. "I have always with me three people _who don't exist_. There is nothing you can force me to do. I could snap my fingers and be in Kalos within seconds. If you want my cooperation, you'll have to offer something more."


	2. The early flames of ardor

It had been an _extremely_ long time since Maxie and Archie had last seen the two boys who'd beat them after their respective attempts at turning the world into more land or more water. That had a perfectly reasonable explanation, really- Maxie had been planning to blow up volcanoes and blah blah blah, probably was going to kill everyone in Hoenn, Archie tried to stop him while pursuing his dreams of a gigantic swimming pool or whatever, and those two had been caught in the crossfire.

Well, that was not actually the point of what Maxie and Archie had done, but the truth was something they'd get _another_ life sentence for if they shared it.

Anyways, after finding out they all four were alive, they'd arranged, in the most covert way possible, to meet up and have a chat about the old days. Maxie had made some noodle thing -whatever it was, it looked_ spicy_- and now they were sitting around a table. The younger of the boys (they were twin brothers, for future reference) set his elbows on the table, causing any noble-people within a mile radius to faint by the sheer waves of uncouthness, and steepled his fingers in front of his lips. Next to him, his brother was attempting to deal with the fact that he'd just gotten his mouth burned off. "You two have been holding up well. Has the Pokémon Liberation Front tried to contact you again?"

"Shush!" Archie hissed, hunching his shoulders as if in physical pain. They were in his hideout/safe house place. Everyone was relatively sure that the police had not found it yet, or else they would have arrested the two men, but one could never be completely sure that there were no listening devices, or, heaven forbid, spies.

"Oh, is that still a touchy subject?" the younger asked, still smiling in that sweetly demonic way he did. "I guess it would be, considering." He daintily picked up his fork, and waved it in the air to accentuate his point. "I mean, it did make you two break up, right?" Yes, this twin was very involved with gossip- when concealing one's true age, one has to keep up with the times.

"Shut up," Archie snapped. "I already explained that I don't date guys twice my age." With that, he almost decided to see it one could kill themselves by stuffing ultra-spicy noodles up their nose. Then he decided to suffer with the indignity of Maxie and the younger laughing at him in the nicest way, the older twin still choking to no one's notice.

Maxie cleared his throat. "Now that we have all the pleasantries settled on our side, how are you two doing?" For this answer, everyone looked at the elder twin, and they finally noticed.

"We should give him some water," Archie said. No, not because he was obsessed with water, but because he was the only sensible person in the room able to speak.

"Yeah," Maxie agreed.

They all stood there and watched for a while as the elder fanned his mouth dramatically, coughing.

After about a minute, he coughed up a noodle that had been badly lodged in his throat. "Jerk," he called his brother childishly, slowly getting to his feet and proceeding to slap his twin across the face.

"Now, were we talking about the-"

He was immediately quieted by a round of "shushes," because, obviously, this was not the place to talk about the Pokémon Liberation Front. And besides, even if it were, it brought back unpleasant memories for everyone.

The light-haired men (that is, the twins) glanced at each other, quieting for a long moment. "We- we appreciate your hospitality, ion your circumstances, but we can't." The elder twin was speaking now, and seemed _extremely_ hesitant about his words. "We can't see it being wise to stay any longer. I don't believe there is anything we can do to help." He let out a nervous breath, playing with the end of his hair.

"Understood," Maxie said. "I agree that it might be best for you to leave now. You could be in danger from this." After he had given a somewhat unwanted hug to the twins, they departed, leaving both former Team leaders with forlorn expressions.

"That brought up some unwelcome questions," Maxie sighed, turning and beginning to clear the dishes. Archie watched him with an expression that seemed to suggest an opposition to his earlier statement about his dating habits. "What if the PLF does try to get our help again?" Maxie continued, oblivious to the lusty stare.

"No," Archie said with finality, closing his eyes and slashing one hand across the air. "We lay low. If they find up, then we refuse." He bit his full lower lip, trying not to think of what would happen then. Unpleasant images, heavily featuring physical and mental dismemberment, featured.

Maxie sighed, turning back to his friend. "And how long, really, do you think we can stand up against their psychic types? _We aren't that strong minded_, Archie. I'm afraid that if they do end up finding us, we won't get to stay our usual rebellious selves for long." He set the stack of dishes back on the makeshift table, covering his face with his slim hands and pressing on his eyelids. He looked fragile at the moment, and Archie set a hand comfortingly on his upper arm, which was honestly about the height of his chin.

"If that moment comes, we can get through it somehow, I'm sure. Even if it means turning ourselves into the police." For some reason, he couldn't even reassure himself that everything was going to be fine.


	3. The art of infliction

_A.N.: I only know English. I use Google translate. I do apologize._

_By the way, even one review would be appreciated -o__r a comment, if those are possible-__ I don't have the faintest clue what you people out there think of this. _

Lysandre folded his hands patiently over the end of his whip, glacial blue eyes closing. "It's doing you no good to deny me, you know," he said commandingly, opening those eyes again to look down upon his captive. The other man was sagged on his knees, hands bound above his bowed head. His back was bare under the harsh fluorescent lights, elegantly striped with red wounds that lazily welled with blood and spilled down the contours of his muscles. "You're only earning this."

The light-haired Asian man sniffled quietly to himself, more because his nose was running than anything else, and looked up, equally pale blue eyes slitting open to glare derisively at the Kalos royal man. "You are doing no good inflicting that torture," he said quietly, calmly. "There is nothing you can do to hurt me." Cyrus could never be broken. Not his heart. Not his mind. Not even his body, the weakest of his elements. After all, he had felt the pain of the world at the peak of the Chemin de Pleurer, the ancient Kalosian war. He'd felt the agony of humanity during the Veliki Ustnaak. As if one spoiled brat with ridiculous hair could have any effect at all.

Lysandre chuckled once, raising his weapon. Cyrus let his head fall again, resting his chin against his collarbone and waiting for the sting and ache.

How he berated himself for being so stupid! He had convinced Giratina to let him out of the Distortion World - it had been easy, really, seeing as the thing had emotions just like any human and could be swayed by them. But then, seeking out his former "co-workers" (only for the purpose of reminding himself he'd existed before) he had found himself approached by a man with vivid orange hair who thought maybe they'd met before. Cyrus had intended to tell him that no, he was sure they really hadn't, when the man had snapped his fingers and spoken his name. Just that. Cyrus had felt a moment of silent dread before being violently bashed in the head. Everything had blurred again... he saw_ that face_ for only a moment before succumbing to the need of his physical shell for relief.

The blow didn't come- the end of the whip was lightly trailed along Cyrus' back, raising an involuntary shiver with the feather-light tickle. Lysandre was looking down on his victim silently, contemplating like he was a half-finished carving. "Your means weren't beautiful," he said harshly, judgingly. "Nor was your motive. But the outcome, that was inspired. I think I can see how one might be driven to that. That's all I need from you, Cyrus, your help in bringing about this end to fighting. And if it means wiping out emotion, I suppose it will be beautiful in its own right, even leaving the human race to survive. It is still better than this sin."

He squatted down to be closer to eye level with Cyrus, tilting his head up forcibly. "You could just help me and spare yourself. What do you think?"

Lysandre had really walked into that one. "I think you should burn in Hell," Cyrus suggested politely. "...Although, untying my arms would suffice." He hated having to ask, but his shoulders were beginning to ache and he couldn't well untie them himself.

The taller man laughed, then reached up to undo the bindings. "And I was told you were emotionally crippled," he commented. Cyrus looked steadily at him, wondering who in the world would say such a thing about him... and how did they know?

Seemingly sensing the question, Lysandre smirked. "Your old friend," he teased, finally getting the knot untied and allowing Cyrus to drop his arms. "The one with the cat ears."

"Saturn?" Cyrus asked, rubbing his sore muscles and looking rather vehemently at Lysandre for being such an _emotional cripple_. "How do you know him?" If this bastard had even _thought_ about abusing Saturn like this, Cyrus would be seriously tempted to strangle him with that _bloody_ whip. Now, understand, Cyrus did have emotions, and they would develop into sentimentality with prolonged exposure, he just didn't have very _many_ emotions.

"Oh, I tracked him down," Lysandre said smugly. "You see, I looked up to Team Galactic, or more specifically, you. You wanted to bring an end both to emotion and fighting. What I really admired is the fact that you managed to win, unlike those miserable failures in Hoenn, Johto, and Kanto." With a powerful tug, Lysandre lifted Cyrus to his feet. The smaller man could barely stand, his legs felt like needle-filled jelly and he collapsed against Lysandre's chest, hating how weak he seemed. No, he shouldn't be hateful. That would only lead to worse...

Lysandre smiled dangerously at the top of Cyrus' head. "What do you want from me?" the Asian said, his voice muffled in the lace thingy around Lysandre's neck. "What will it cost for you to let me go?" His body was shaking. Lysandre had really weakened him, more than Cyrus would ever admit. He did not feel pain, not anymore, but his body was just like that of a normal human. That didn't mean the wounds weren't there.

With his powerful hands on the smaller man's arms, Lysandre forced Cyrus to stand straight. Two pairs of amazingly pale eyes locked, both calm, one empty.

"I want your cooperation, that's all," Lysandre said soothingly, his smile becoming more natural, less predatory.

Cyrus turned his head away, the ends of his hair tracking his own blood across his skin and saturating purple. "This..." he said softly, voice tightening as if he were about to cry -which is impossible- "This was caused by your emotions. Greed. Desire. " His brows dropped, squeezing his eyes shut. "But you... It seems moire like naivety. I don't understand your motives." Her looked up into his captor's face. "Why would I help someone who could be completely opposing my own goals?"

"Because of those people," the French man said. "The ones you ended up caring about, even though we all know you never wanted to feel. I can kill them one by one right in front of your eyes." More than that, it wouldn't bother Lysandre one bit. People had to die to make great things happen, even a beautiful world. Besides, their deaths, along with those others who denied him, would eventually be part of his symphony anyways.


End file.
